


i'm giving you a nightcall

by wolfiery (asswords)



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Injury, Clarke-centric, Cunnilingus, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Forgiveness, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Near Future, Rescue Missions, Slow Build, brief mention of panic attacks, canon history!bellamy bc plss, lots of meta/emotions for clarke & her feelings, set after 2x09
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-09
Updated: 2015-03-09
Packaged: 2018-03-15 07:23:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3438569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asswords/pseuds/wolfiery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He shakes his head in response, his hair ruffling over his eyes, a slight smile on his face in sadness. "There's this old story I thought of when I was up in Mount Weather."</p><p>The forest is still, but if Clarke listens closely, she can hear the rustle of flies and their wings, the gentle stir of leaves moving with the wind, their shoes pushing against sticks and grass. The Earth was always so alive, and in this moment, it's the most relaxing time she's had in the woods so far.</p><p>"Tell me," Clarke urges gently.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'm giving you a nightcall

**Author's Note:**

> This ended up being the longest one-shot I’ve ever written. What. The. Fuck.
> 
> The fic is set up after 2x09, but not quite because I skip ahead based on that episode and past the part where Bellamy is the inside man (past the action and stuff that happens).
> 
> There’s also the fact that I skip some OTHER action because I just cannot write action scenes, god dammit - but I tried to explain what the plans were as best as possible.
> 
> And I wrote sex instead, so there’s that. I’d lie and say I didn’t mean for it to be so long, but I totally, totally did.
> 
> It’s been a while, dudes. Hope you like it!

It goes like this.

Clarke sent Bellamy to infiltrate the mountain men.

Then she rescues him.

####

"Let's go!" Octavia says harshly, her grip white on her blade, her eyes scanning the tunnel for any sign of reapers.

Clarke grunts as she shifts Bellamy's arm around her shoulder, struggling to pull his weight even with Jasper on the other side. His feet are sliding over the sticks and dirt, his voice gravelly as he groans in pain.

Clarke tries not to think about the blood that's been slowly soaking up the front of his shirt just where he had been stabbed. It takes her a moment to refocus, she adjusts his arm again, holding it tighter around his forearm. Once she does, they manage to help drag him through.

Monty is supporting the ones behind, the ones they managed to sneak out, all thirteen of them. Clarke aches inside when she thinks about the people she had to leave behind,  _again_  – her mother was right, they needed more help than just a small group of misfits who only fought better against Grounders, barely so. These mountain men had control, they had total dominance and the guns and needles to stop them.

Clarke has thought of burning them all, bombing the roof of their structure, breaching their containment - but she has met them and a part of her, the human part, knows not  _all_  are hurting others. Another part of her thinks she has too many mass murders in her past already.

They have to keep moving even once they reach green land, she knows the mountain men will not stop searching. Before they even made it out, Clarke made sure no one had a tracking device in their arms but she still worries. Down here on Earth, it feels like every move she makes is two steps behind them.

Her thighs are burning and she is sure that Jasper is weaker than he says he is - they are pulling dead weight — No. No, not  _dead_. But she sneaks a glance every few moments to see if Bellamy's unconscious or not.

Clarke twists her grip on his arm so that her fingertips find a vein. If she does it mainly to comfort herself, to make sure his heartbeat is steady while they put one foot in front of the other, she would never admit it.

They walk for what seems like hours but in fact may only be less than one when they reach an abandoned and burned sector of the Ark - she remembers now, hearing from Raven about it, how the people in Camp Jaha seem to be the only ones who survived. Clarke steps through some debris, urging the rest of them to come through. It is hard to ignore the skeletons.

One girl cries out in pain, and begins to sob - Clarke is about to tell her to be quiet when she sees the girl kneeled over one of the bodies - it is her father, and Clarke's words die on her lips.

"We have to stop, we have to -" Octavia starts and her eyes well up with tears. "Clarke, he's still losing blood." The unspoken,  _Don't let him die - you sent him there_  enters Clarke's mind over and over again.

She's hesitant for the briefest moment, looking over her shoulder, waiting for a threat to attack before nodding. They are surrounded by trees as well as the ship - there are some burnt supplies, but maybe something useful is around. For once, Clarke puts her faith in hopes the Earth itself shields them with her trees from masked men with guns with lasers.

She nods to Jasper, who lets go of Bellamy gently as they both attempt to bring him to the ground. Her arm was beginning to fall asleep, exhausted from the strain and Jasper's face looked sickly and pale, for medical reasons she's sure they won't ever really know.

Bellamy is worse than anyone, his abdomen was stabbed by the psycho young doctor who thankfully only managed to get her hands on Octavia's blade - not a syringe of chemicals or a gun or something worse. He was already impaired and barely cognizant when it happened. In turn, Octavia shot Dr. Singh three times, a bit unnecessarily, but Clarke would have done the very same, if it came down to it.

"Hey, hey," Clarke rips the shirt open with her own blade and doesn't let her fingers come in direct contact with the wound.

"Did you put poison on the blade?" Clarke asks, checking the entry of the wound. She snaps her head up to Octavia who is watching the blood. For the first time since she's last seen Bellamy, Clarke feels a rush of guilt through her, but the truth is simple, the facts always are - she does not have time for this now. "Octavia! Answer me!"

"No, no! There's no poison!" Octavia glares at her, tear tracks down her face through the blood and dirt all caked on their faces. Clarke does not apologize, not now.

He is passing out, she thinks, soon enough - he's lasted a long time already, an impressive strength in keeping awake, even with being silent except for the moans of pain. "Come on, don't fail on me now."

"Monty, look around the debris with Jasper - anything that might be useful. The rest of you - someone build me some goddamn fire  _now_ ," a few scramble at the sound of her command, the influence of their leaders doesn't seem to have disappeared and Clarke smiles softly to herself for a quick second.  The wound looks deeper than she originally had thought.

Her eyes well up for a moment but she moves in spite of this, reaching into her bag and dowsing her hand in alcohol (she was smart enough to steal some at Mount Weather). Clarke clinically checks that the blade didn't tear or rip through his intestines or worse.

Relief is easy to work with then - she wraps her hand in the fabric of his t-shirt and presses forcefully on the wound. The pressure sends another groan through his lips - she wants to say so many sorrys, but it seems her lips can't form the words. Clarke looks around them and then to Monty, "Do we have any seatbelt rope by any chance?"

She expects it when his head shakes, because they are never lucky, even if it would be perfect to tie around him, keeping him from bleeding out and dying on her watch. Clarke is out of the options she wants and is about to try to use the thin fabric around her hand that's already soaking up Bellamy's blood to tie around him, but then she feels a hand on her shoulder.

"Did you need this?"

She looks up to see Murphy holding up a length of a seatbelt and can't help but drop her jaw. She takes it, makes the fastest work of her hands she can and places it evenly around the wound, before tightening her grip and pulling on both ends of the rope as snug as she can. Clarke ties it and sighs in relief. It is the best she can do and tries not to think about what will happen if her best is not enough - it wouldn't be the first time.

"Uh, boss?" Miles, one of their cooks back at the camp - they've never spoken much, Bellamy was more involved with the people. "Got a fire going." Her eyes follow the path where he is pointing and she can see the flames. She laughs in relief and feels like sobbing but her job is not done.

"Help me carry him."

When they move Bellamy's body closer to the fire, she takes her jacket off, puts it under his neck for a pillow and a tarp Jasper found in the wreckage underneath him. Her blade tight in her grip, she holds it to the red of the flames until it burns bright. Moving the seatbelt, she wastes no time and blocks out the sound of flesh sizzling. Bellamy makes no movement, but she had not expected him to - he finally passed out a few minutes ago. He's still breathing and that's all that matters.

Clarke takes a moment to view her surroundings, one large metal scrap towering to the side with debris on its sides, rusted and burned from the fall through the atmosphere. It reminds her of the walls they built around the drop ship - they feel safe, protective. Her gaze flickers to Bellamy before looking at the rest of the group, who were all more crowded around her than she realized, waiting for her order.

"You guys have to go. The mountain men won't stop. I'll stay here, it's safe enough to hide at but it won't hide all eighteen of us," she takes a deep breath and a heavy sigh when she acknowledges how much she'd rather have Bellamy to give commands. "Murphy, Octavia - take them to Camp Jaha, I'd love to return some kids to their parents."

Murphy nods and begins to lead and Octavia looks livid, scoffing while she crosses her arms.

"You must be crazy to think I'm leaving him," Octavia stands her ground not even needing to look at her brother for Clarke to understand. She's right though - Clarke should know by now not to get between them.

"Fine, you stay," she answers and resists rolling her eyes at Octavia's surprised expression. Lincoln must have had a bigger influence on her than any of them realized because she's a fierce fighter. In all honesty, Clarke does not mind the backup.

"Jasper, stay close together and by the trees as much as possible on the way back."

He nods with determination but then continues to stand there awkwardly. Clarke raises her eyebrows, waiting.

"Could we like - sit for a little? Bellamy's a fatass," he says casually while annoyed.

Octavia laughs and the rest of the group follows with ease. Clarke doesn't, still nerve-wracked and weary, but she does smile.

#####

He wakes up late in the night when the forest has fallen silent except for the small creatures and wind through the trees.

Octavia was meant to be on Earth, she thinks to herself. The beds would seem chaotic to the people of Camp Jaha, but she combined tarp and clothing to make comfortable beds and Clarke can't say she isn't impressed.

"I'm sorry," she finally says out loud, her arms behind her head as she lies down and covets the warmth of the fire. Clarke sits up and crosses her legs, looking to gauge a reaction out of the girl.

"You're gonna have to elaborate on that one," Octavia says simply albeit coldly.

"It wasn't worth the risk," she clarifies and it breaks her a little more. What was she thinking? After everything they've built, she feels exhausted and guilty to have thought that Bellamy was so replaceable. He's not - he's her partner, her co-leader and if she really wanted to, she would even say he is the closest thing she has to a best friend. She trusts him with her life and he was an idiot to trust his own with an unstable mess like her. A part of her knows he would've stayed if she changed her mind, if she could have gotten Lexa's words out of her mind and Finn out of her view.

"Damn right it wasn't," his sister retorts, but then softens a bit. "We saved our friends though."

A groan interrupts her thoughts before she can reply.

"The injured would love some water," Bellamy speaks, his voice harsh and cracking over the syllables. Octavia throws the jacket off her legs and grins as she rushes to his side.

Clarke’s heart panics for a moment and then she starts to cry, unable to restrain it any longer.  _God_ , she's so tired. Her hands fumble for the flask, eyes blurry when she goes over to hand it to Octavia. She can't look at him and she keeps trying to tell herself that she's being moronic - she stuck her hand inside his flesh but she can’t handle him waking up. The tears don't stop, practically a subconscious doing now.

"Princess," Bellamy says softly. The address makes her look at him without thinking, shocked to see a gentle grimace on his features. Clarke is probably a mess, her face blotchy like it always is when she cries. Octavia doesn't even blink or look at her differently, another relief in her book. "Wipe the blood off your hands."

She resists the urge to look down at her hands - she doesn't even remember if she did clean them, wouldn't be surprised if Bellamy's blood is still on them. Clarke knows that's not what he means though and she inhales deeply, like it's her first step on Earth. He is forgiving her, just like they always do for one another.

She nods in reply, and then leans down to sit at his side. When she looks up, Octavia is smiling at the both of them.

_There's something I thought I'd never see._

The words echo in her head and for the first time, Clarke sees the implication behind them. She resists any further thought about it and checks Bellamy's wound. It's still a fresh burn, but it's hardened enough so she works with her hands and takes the seatbelt off.

"Clarke," Octavia says calmly, "You should rest."

She wants to protest, especially seeing as Bellamy will be awake for a while and they should leave as soon as he can walk.

"Clarke, go to sleep. You're no use groggy and depressing," Bellamy jokes light-heartedly, but they both know it's true. Ever since Finn's death, she couldn't sleep for longer than an hour. Her body is begging to crash at this point and the beds Octavia made seem like a small heaven waiting for her.

"Fine," she stands up and is about to go but stops to glare at him, "You're never doing this again, got it?"

He grins at her, "Not alone at least."

Strange enough, it comforts her greatly and when her head finally rests on her jacket, she falls asleep in minutes.

#####

"You're avoiding me," Bellamy points out as he catches up to her side. She opens her mouth to say something and looks back at Octavia walking behind them for a second. Her first instinct is to scold him for running while he's wounded, but keeps quiet.

"The plan failed," is all she says, bitterly and wishes they were back at the camp already.

"So we made a new plan," he shrugs, "and that  _did_  work."

Clarke hates when he is right, when he knows the right things to say. She takes a deep breath, looking to him to find he's still watching her, patient and understanding as always - she wishes she was more annoyed by it.

"I can't lose you," she repeats, her voice wavering slightly. "No one else will keep me sane." It's too close to the truth and she almost regrets the words, but it  _is_  true. He's kept her grounded and she feels less alone when he's around, more sure of her decisions with him to bounce them off of.

"It's not your fault," he offers, his face doing some soft and pained expression that she can't quite figure out. It's almost true.

"But you wouldn't have done the same."

"I'm not as strong as you," Bellamy frowns, this time serious and intimidating when he looks to her. Her step falters for the briefest moment.

 _I wish I was weaker_ , she thinks and doesn't say anything at all.

Unspoken, unheard, and unbalanced in the background: 

_Maybe then, I could have -_

#####

They return to camp by midday and Clarke is immediately enveloped by her mother's bounding arms. She looks over her mom's shoulder and sees Bellamy grinning at something Jasper had said, Octavia on his side, laughing - her braids swinging. Clarke wishes, for once, that they were independent of the Ark.

The kids she came down here with are not the same as they were before, whoever remains, and it tugs at her chest in some ways that she may be responsible for returning them to loving parents broken and scarred.

It's easy to admit: the adults have no comprehension of the things they've been through. They have order and more control and separation of power, but the place she and Bellamy built was more like home, mistakes engraved in every teenager's voice and warmth in return for the things they've had to face. She wishes they could go back - their methods were real and welcoming of Earth. It was, as Bellamy had created, whatever the hell they wanted.

"I'm okay, Mom," She says, a quick smile to try and erase the worry out of her mom's wrinkles. Clarke rarely tells her mother the truth of the things she feels anymore. She got to see enough with her breakdown over Finn and she doesn't think she'll ever forgive and forget about how her mom couldn't tell she was essentially sending her dad to his death. It is a different case in survival to kill the one you love. And no matter how hard Clarke tries to see things from her mother's side, it's more apparent than ever since her time on Earth that her mom wasn't exactly in a situation of life and death to make the choice for her dad.

"Was Bellamy bleeding?" Her mom asks curiously as they stand side by side looking at the others' reunions. The question makes her falter because  _fuck_ , she's overwhelmed with the need to apologize again, for  _knowing_  Bellamy could have potentially died and going through with it anyways. That - she cannot do again.

"Yeah, patched him up though." That reminds her to force him to the med bay, except considering her mom and her were the quintessential doctors, maybe she should let it go.

Clarke's met with a curious eyebrow raise, seeing her mom want to ask but suppressing it. "He's a good leader," Abby says with a thoughtful hum and an assertive nod to herself.

Clarke keeps quiet because, well, she already knows this to be true. He was always good.

#####

A week later, her mother - still the appointed Chancellor - declares they have a plan.

In this time, Clarke finds her hands working diligently with a pen, sloping line after line on her Mount Weather structure map with hopes that maybe they could finally end this battle once and for all.

Bellamy spends the majority of his time alone, on the outskirts and sidelines of the meetings. Clarke feels the absence by her side in leadership but doesn't push him to be so involved. 

When he thinks no one is looking, his face becomes grim and distant - it echoes the fact that they haven't talked about the torture, the weakness. They don't talk about how Octavia was the one who found him - upside down and strung up like the rest, murmuring words of madness before they took him down ( _"Don't hurt them, don't - please, I'm a monster"_ ) and coming to reality with a clutch on battle mode, eyes shifting rapidly in search of a threat. 

Her mom attempted to argue about the kids coming with them.

"They  _just_  got back," Abby had said, looking at her daughter like she was an alien of coldness for standing by the decisions of her own group. 

"I don't decide for them, and frankly, I don't disagree - these are  _our_  friends. They have every right."

The guards of the Ark are walking in hectic formation - crossing through the middle of camp, back and forth in every direction, guns on their sides and carrying weapons and armor for the rest of them.

There's a fire in the center and Clarke goes to it like she's a moth and overlooks everyone who bustles around in a hurry, in preparation for the lives that will inevitably be lost. She and her mother already did their part, packing every possible medical supply with them - save for the few they decided to leave at base, for margin of error if they lost any on the way back.

The space by her side fills up.

"You've led well so far," Lexa's voice says firmly next to her. "Alone, at least."

Clarke catches her eyes, frowning a bit at the statement.

The commander's lips quirk into a brief upturn, "Even a commander has a second." After, she tips her head to the left to show her meaning. Clarke follows the motion with her eyes, finding Bellamy loading and checking the rounds of different guns. 

Clarke inhales slowly and deeply, biting the inside of her cheek to keep it together. She trusts Lexa to keep the other Grounders in check, but she's not quite comfortable voicing her fears about the mission, about her own emotions to the other girl. She hasn't told anyone how badly she doesn't want Bellamy to come with them for fear he might slip out of their grasp forever. It's irrational, she knows, to want to protect him so strongly after his experience at Mount Weather even though he exceeds her fighting skills every time.

"He still guides us," she remarks, not knowing what else she should say or what Lexa is looking to hear, whether she's trying to read between the lines and find that Clarke is fucking  _terrified_  of losing him, vulnerability scattered in places that no one thought to look for in her. The rescue mission was deeply disapproved by the commander, who commented on its worthlessness to risk lives to get one man back. Lexa became more subdued when Clarke adamantly assured her they were going to bring back all the ones they could.

"Perhaps you should take this time to guide  _him_ ," Lexa suggests thoughtfully. 

The suggestion makes Clarke's shoulders stiffen, anger beginning to boil at Lexa's constant coldness thrown off with occasional emotion. The girl can't seem to make up her mind - telling Clarke love is weakness and then one day, the commander is congratulating a couple on their nuptials at camp.

It's not fair, is all.

"He can handle it." There's a bit of a glare in her eyes that she can't resist when she looks over at Lexa one more time.

Before the commander leaves, she speaks one last time to show the mistake of her past, her regret.

"I knew Gustus loved me, but I did not say enough to help. Love is a path of war itself, Clarke - I was wrong."

She hears the thought that Bellamy loves her but does not focus on it. The significance of his feelings toward her are not a priority, despite the hints pointed to her by Octavia and Lexa - but not because she wants to remain ignorant, rather because Clarke thinks that Bellamy deserves to be whole. Her confusion is beside the point in relation to his trauma.

She leaves the fire regardless, walking gradually towards him. He looks up and spots her before she arrives and straightens up, putting the guns down to the ground and waiting for her.

“How’s it going?” Clarke asks and immediately feels like smacking herself for the awful question - but then Bellamy smirks, his hair unruly as always, his face clean of dirt and grime except for a few scars and bruising.

“You sure you want the answer for that?” he asks, his smile beginning to expand as his amusement towards her grows. She feels hot all over, embarrassed for being stupid, but she can’t find the right balance yet, things more awkward as she continuously says the wrong things.

“You’re right,” she says, shaking her head and looking to the ground. “I’m being -” Her hand waves randomly in the air, hoping he’ll understand her erratic and strange behavior. But this is  _Bellamy_ , so of course he understands, and just nods in agreement.

“You want to go for a walk in the woods, princess?” He teases, picking up another gun and loading a magazine in it, the click familiar and safe in his hands. The words pull a sudden smile to her face and she looks up to see the seriousness in the question, and yes, yes she wants to get away from this - from war, from worry.

They leave at dawn to march and fight, a journey that will no doubt be a battle itself - against the mountain men in masks with green lasers on their side and yellow fog overbearing. They have tarps for cover but even that will not be enough to keep everyone alive.

“I can meet you by Wick’s exit in a little bit," Clarke shrugs, but her hands fumble with the zipper of her jacket, anxious and distressed, for once about him, not the rest of the camp, nor the battle that no one can admit they might lose. 

Bellamy's eyebrows raise in surprise at the affirmation, but nods slowly, "Yeah, okay. I'll just finish up."

She smiles at him in hopes of easing the situation, but in afterthought, as she walks near to the sides of Wick's station, she isn't sure why she did. 

Her left boot is tearing at the side from wear and running through all kinds of conditions. They're still her favorite though, for lasting with her for so long. She kicks at the dirt repeatedly, her back against the metal of the Ark and a yawn reaches her lips unexpectedly.

"I'm not carrying you back," Bellamy comments humorously, essentially announcing his presence. It should freak her out, the way he appeared out of nowhere, but it doesn't at all. It settles her, somehow.

Clarke laughs, "You won't have to. Come on, let's go." She walks quietly along the metal wall, until they reach the fence's only weak spot. The mountain men wouldn't think about using it though, Raven already set up a lock code. Prisoners aren't too fond of being trapped with their captors and Clarke only asked for her people to confront her before going anywhere.

Clarke looks over her shoulder just as they enter the woods and sees Bellamy clutching a knife low at his side. She didn't think to bring weapons, doesn't think they'll need them, but she won't mention that.

"Clarke," Bellamy says, three feet behind her. She stops to let him catch up. "Are you okay?"

Figures. She tries to do something nice, give him an opportunity to talk and relax away from others, and he’s still asking about her mental state.

“No,” she admits without hesitation, because she is tired of pretending. “Are you?”

He shakes his head in response, his hair ruffling over his eyes, a slight smile on his face in sadness. “There’s this old story I thought of when I was up in Mount Weather.”

The forest is still, but if Clarke listens closely, she can hear the rustle of flies and their wings, the gentle stir of leaves moving with the wind, their shoes pushing against sticks and grass. The Earth was always so alive, and in this moment, it’s the most relaxing time she’s had in the woods so far.

“Tell me,” Clarke urges gently, because she can tell he wants to, and maybe, he wasn’t trying to hide anything from her, just waiting for the right opportunity to tell her instead. Her eyes are drawn to his face wanting to see the pain unselfishly, to be there for him as Bellamy always is for her.

“It dates back to ancient Rome,” his voice starts lowly, carrying over the sounds of their footsteps. “There’d be a ceremony for military commanders, which sometimes ended up being the Etruscan kings themselves, after victory in battle. They’d be rewarded with gold and crowns and wear them to a parade among their people.” Bellamy stops to gesture to a fallen log, moldy and skittering with bugs underneath the bark, but Clarke sits anyways, used to being in unwelcoming conditions. The wood creaks underneath her when Bellamy sits, but it’s still firm and steady. “But it was a custom,” he continues softly, “To be humble. A commoner or even a public slave would travel alongside in the chariot to say ’ _Memento mori_ ’.”

She frowns curiously, picking up on the Latin very briefly and trying to look back to her school days, “Remember death?”

Bellamy’s head ducks down, a small smile on his lips, his freckles visible with the moonlight.

Clarke has to catch her breath when his gaze meets hers, “Basically, yeah. Remember that you can die.”

She opts to look away and can’t help the amusement that runs through her, she feels inappropriately giddy and wants to squash the feeling as much as possible, but it just isn’t working. “That’s the story you thought of while being tortured?” Any contrition for bringing it up goes over her head - it’s too late to take it back anyways.

Bellamy’s eyes narrow as he wears a grimace, visibly going over the irony in his mind and finally snorts, “Yeah. Yeah, I guess it’s not exactly ideal.”

“I didn’t mean to -” But Clarke cuts herself off, her mind seeking for the things that Bellamy deserves to hear, the truth of their feelings and emotions about the world were always similar in the end. “It’s good. Makes living that much more important, right?”

Bellamy’s lips part in amazement as he nods and she can’t say the motion doesn’t distract her - it’d be easy to kiss him, especially now, when he’s uninhibited and unafraid of her. She  _can’t_  - she wouldn’t deserve him if she had met him on the Ark, if she’d been different in her choices of romance when they had landed - if Finn hadn’t charmed her with humor and adventure. If she put the ones she cared for first instead of her people, it’s possible they wouldn’t have ended up gone. There’s too many she has to take care of, to watch, and she wishes she could just shake Bellamy’s shoulders, make him realize she’s nothing but a broken Midas touch, killing everyone she holds.

“We should go back,” Clarke breathes out heavily, feeling disgustingly fragile when her face heats up and her chest feels like a burden. She feels like crying again, but she can’t afford to with Bellamy here, who would comfort her with strong arms and she just, she  _can’t_.

She is the one to stand up first, brushes her pants off with the palms of her hands and sneaks a glance at him underneath the golden strands of her hair. He’s watching her thoughtfully still sitting with his grip on the log, almost offended at her getting ready for departure.

“Your map was in my pocket the whole time,” he says, an edge of irritability in his words, “I was so scared in the tunnels with Lincoln, that the reapers would take it.”

Clarke closes her eyes, buries her face in her guilt-bathed hands, wipes her eyelids even though there’s nothing there, and her shoulders shake when she looks at him again. “Bellamy -”

“No,” he says bitterly, “Listen. I saw a reaper eat the arm of a  _boy_. The hand was tiny, the blood smelled so awful. The reapers didn’t care about logistics or words or regret - just driven by pure animal instinct, pure hunger for a drug. I was  _scared_ , Clarke.”

At the mention of her name, she takes a step forward closer, forcing her own bravery to be strong and be there for him, like she promised herself she’d do. His anger fades after that, his words coming out gentle and haunting, the way memories often are - like a creeping soreness that lies underneath the skin.

“I thought I had every instinct in me to not say anything when I was at the mountain. But then they took my clothes off and suddenly I didn’t have your map with me, and I wasn’t that sure anymore. Wasn't sure that I could hold on to protecting our people, Octavia, and you, with the way you let me go,” his eyes shift to the ground, “But I remembered that story, and yeah, how fucking predictable of me - all I did was remember I could die, that maybe I even deserved to. But I heard you, a long time ago, say you needed me, that everyone needed me, and it helped,” Bellamy stands up, his stance is towering as he straightens his posture. “I know that’s still true.”

“It is,” Clarke whispers, not trusting her voice to go louder without cracking, her throat feels like clogging up, sobs begging to push their way out.  _Of course it is._

“Then don’t make me a part of your guilt trip, Princess,” Bellamy’s hands are strong when they steady her shoulders and she sucks in a breath she didn’t even know she was waiting for. “It goes both ways, okay?”

Clarke steps again, and doesn’t deny herself the comfort in resting her head over his shoulder, her chin tucked on top and her arms looping around his neck as she nods. Yes, maybe he would not have done the same, but he doesn't ever stop her from her choices, and he worries just as much as she does.

She shouldn’t have lost sight of what she  _knows_  about Bellamy because he might love her or because she did what she had to and feels bad about it. She feels a bare touch of lips on her hair, an underlying shiver runs through her and her grip tightens considerably.

“I’ll be alright, Clarke,” he says but his arms are tight and she didn’t think she’d ever need someone this much to put the courage and the fear side by side in her heart.

Balanced, she thinks, is a nice feeling.

#####

The dawn arrived slower than she had expected. The air was uneasy, everyone gathered by the camp's main doors with a nervous energy. In the midst of guns and formation, there were unwavering swords - the Grounders spread out among them, a mix of ritual and chaos, and her group, she believes, as the heart of it. It made Clarke wonder if that was all it ever took to beat a common enemy.

Bellamy stands by her side now, their group of misfits with battle in their bones. Clarke is proud of them, for having the strength they've learned too early, ingrained enough to show its power after the safety of the mountain’s closed doors. But they will be okay.

The journey is simple enough in the beginning. Her mother rations the water to keep them hydrated enough to not have to stop often for breaks. They take their march through muddy paths and a field of trees, standing taller than ever, as if they stand to support them. She finds such a peace in this, that sometimes the weapons over their shoulders are so light, she panics they're not there at all.

"Have you talked to Octavia?" Clarke asks, but doesn't look behind her. Octavia is stronger after being on her own for so long, standing along the Grounders for now after breathing some kind of cordial spirit into them.

"She mentioned the crazy, experimenting doctor. She deserved it," he says firmly, as if daring her to disagree. Clarke suppresses a harsh laugh at the incredulity of it.

"I'd have killed her, if she didn't," Clarke says instead and thinks he'll figure it out. Judging from the satisfied smirk on his face, he does. How infuriating of him.

"Now  _that's_  the will to have when we're about to go to war," Bellamy jokes and she doesn't even bother to conceal the eye roll in response. He bumps his arm into hers with a last smile.

Jasper taps her shoulder, ducking his head between their space as he tries to keep up with his steps, "Not to be aggravating, because I  _do_  pay attention, but what exactly is the game plan here?"

Clarke snorts at the inquiry, knowing full well he was really just testing his moonshine in the last few meetings. ( _"I have to check if it's lost its tasty pizzazz while I was gone. Fermentation is a beautiful process that I've missed dearly at that damn mountain."_ )

"Most of us will have roles in securing the perimeter," she starts, because despite her mother's belief, Clarke isn't  _heartless_  - she wants her people safe as much as the next person. "You'll be with the guards who are gonna take Monty and the rest of the tech team to the inside mainframe. Raven's still at the Ark, but she's working to help disable thereapers with the tone generator she built and the control of the doors."

It hadn’t been her idea to assign Raven to so much work but the girl was astonishingly brilliant so often and so when she had presented Clarke extra assistance, there was no capacity but to accept. Raven admitted that she didn’t mind keeping her hands busy.

"The mountain men who are otherwise on ground to battle are for half of Camp Jaha and the Grounders. The rest of them are slowly going to make their way in, door by door which Raven and Wick will control once they're hooked up, until they get to our friends and have a clear way to get back through."

She looks to Bellamy to make sure she got the gist of it right and stands straighter when he voices his agreement.

"What about you two?" The boy asks, looking between them and frowning.

Clarke grins, "We're going after the Wallace’s son, Cage. With Murphy and Kane, so it should be fun."

Jasper eyes her oddly but leaves after that.

She wanted to expose the  _b_ _o y _for what he was - a liar who thought he worked for compassion because of his father’s distant memory of time on earth. As far as she’s concerned, he has spent too long oblivious to the wrong in his ways. Being on the Earth is not an entitlement - all of them are only human and the Earth decides for  _them_  who dies and who lives. Death is unavoidable and Wallace and his have tried for too long to cheat it by harming innocent people.

Bellamy should be the one to give a speech to Wallace’s people, explain the truth behind their walls - he's better at inspiring lawless ideas.

"What was that?" Bellamy asks her, grinning. "I inspire lawless ideas?"

 _Fuck_  Clarke's life, of course she's the person who mutters battle plans under her breath, as if it's not a danger to spill out methods. It's not what she's mad about, though. It probably has more to do with Bellamy's confidence. He's always had it but  _god_ , if he isn't provoking her since last night’s conversation and  _moment_ , suddenly unabashed in making flirtatious comments like he knows she doesn't mind as much as he used to believe.

"I'm sorry, are you telling me you're  _didn't_  get 23 kids to take off a bracelet after I said not to?"

"Princess, I can get people to take off a whole lot more than bracelets," Bellamy laughs, clutching his side as her mouth drops open in shock of his words. She should not be grinning, but she is. People are going to die in a few hours and she is laughing on the way to a fight they've been waiting for in long, tortuous weeks. For once, though, Clarke lets it disappear from her mind. She is alive and she likes the feeling.

"You wish," she mutters, flushing in her cheeks when she takes a moment to imagine it, but they're both still smiling and maybe everything will work out.

The mountain is just a small part of Earth after all.

#####

They return three days later bloodied and bruised, new scars everywhere on their appendages and torsos and faces. But they are  _alive_ , somehow.

The numbers weren't excruciating - still, too many lives lost due to a fight they were forced to have. The Grounders counted forty-seven dead or missing from their army.

Camp Jaha: Two of the Ark's men wouldn't believe the power behind the warning of acid fog and paid their price for it. Thirteen died in the fight within Mount Weather's walls. Three guards bled out from the bites of reapers until one of them got a grip on the tone generator.

Clarke tried to hold Harper by the arms, drag her into some kind of gripping embrace, until the right footing was set and she would be able to drag the girl with her. But instead, she had fallen limp in Clarke’s arms, sliding slowly to the ground into a fit of seizures. There was no time to waste but Clarke watched until Harper foamed at the mouth, choking on the curse of having lost too much blood and marrow, too much strength.

Needless to say, she didn’t make it.

Miller gave his life to protect Monty and the ones in the mainframe, guarding the outside with a gun on his hip, fighting off the Mountain Men who tried to break through them - to gain the only control they ever really had back. They would never have succeeded anyways - especially when Miller’s gun ran frightening songs of bullets until the last guy standing fired directly at his head. It looked simple, the methods of that type of battle execution were seen all over the levels of Mount Weather. But it didn't feel simple at all.

Clarke’s hair smells like rot, like the bodies they passed in the tunnels and the bodies they found in cages. Her hands haven’t stopped shaking since she took them off Marissa’s neck wound, a girl her age, from the Ark, who swung her weapon too late against a rogue reaper. Her mom is being carried by Kane, not really hurt, but facing the consequences of a concussion.

Clarke was alone then, in taking care of people, overwhelmed with her own hands and the things they could do. She had no idea for that first man with a bleeding deep gash in his forearm, how to put someone back together after using her fists in blazing increments against the lieutenant of the Mountain Men just thirty minutes before. Clarke had never felt so lost, so beaten in her whole life - even if they won the war.

When the fences of Camp Jaha finally close and clang shut behind her, she falls to her knees and starts to cry.

#####

Bellamy is there, but he is there all the time, looking at her worried when she zones out with a plate of food on her lap or commanding other people to bring her supplies when she is taking care of the injured men in the Ark's medical bay.

He was there when she spent the first day at her mom’s bedside. Clarke was holding her hand, waiting patiently for the Chancellor to wake up. She was about to check her temperature, possibly for the fifth redundant time, when Raven came in, smiled sadly like she had at everyone who returned, and handed her a flask of water with the comment: “Bellamy said you’d be here.”

She recently discovered from Lexa that her own people had been giving her space based on his say so.

He was everywhere, and Clarke wants nothing more than to punch him for it.

It doesn’t go that way though.

Because Bellamy has a relentless knack for understanding her eye glances, he knows that the gesture she made earlier in the Ark's designated kitchen area, while she filled up on homemade sanitizer, referred to meeting her at the same place they walked to before they left.

Later, Clarke crosses her legs on the log and fiddles with the strands of a hole in the calf of her jeans as she waits. A part of her worries that she'll punch him as soon as he gets here, rather than talk it out, like her rational mind is trying to tell her to do.

The anger doesn't subside even when he walks determined toward her, even if she can recognize the difference between pity and concern in his eyes.

"You have to stop," she says first, determined and unwavering. She refuses to let him take the blame for things or forgive her. Clarke has spent a long time searching for the state of  _okay_  and she truly believes she's closer to it now than ever. But only by going over the things she's done and accepting to live with them by not punishing herself. The only peace she has is knowing she can't change the past - that doesn't mean she has to forgive herself either.

Bellamy frowns at this, like he's trying to put the pieces together, figure out what exactly he has to stop. Clarke stares on at a healing scab on his jaw, not wanting to spell it out for him. She's been putting her trust in the things they don't say ever since they first formed their co-leadership (or whatever it was) - there's no reason to stop now.

He catches on eventually and Clarke has a distant thought that maybe this kind of level of understanding between two people can be remarkably torturous.

"I'm worried, do you want me to say I'm not? We're all worried," Bellamy says the last words quietly but Clarke can't restrain clenching her fists in her lap. He's standing a few feet away from the log and she's grateful for it.

"You don't have to keep my friends away from me. You don't have to keep track of me and I especially don't need you to  _worry_  about me," Clarke's voice rises toward the end and she looks up from the dirt to see his thoughtful, unfazed expression. They used to fight all the time, so she's just waiting for him to fire back at her.

"Okay," he says instead and Clarke forgets a little to be mad when she's surprised, when he nods in affirmance as she looks up. "I had guessed you needed space, maybe I shouldn't have guessed."

Well,  _fuck_ , what is she supposed to do now? Clarke doesn't feel like loosening her fists but she doesn't want to use them on Bellamy either - they already have enough scars. She sighs heavy and long and Bellamy takes this as his cue to sit on the log beside her.

"Tell me," he says softly and his shoulder presses against hers, a steady source of warmth. It takes her back to that first walk and she wonders if maybe this will become  _their_  spot or something cheesy and luxurious like that. He opened up to her and does so more than she ever could with him. Clarke can't figure out why it took her so long to realize how far Bellamy's trust in her was shown, even spoken if she looks back to when he almost gave up on all of them. It's obvious - it's her turn.

“Don’t you think that by now - we became who we needed to be to survive? It just - it doesn’t feel that different anymore. I don't even know what I'm doing if I'm not trying to fix someone or talk about peace treaties or coming up with some battle plan. It's like it's all I know how to do,” and she is  _terrified_ , because the war is done but she's already looking for another enemy, another task to work on. Clarke isn't sure what she'll do with her hands, her overworked, blood-soaked hands.

Bellamy is looking at her, staring in truth, and she expects it to burn her, to make her want to cower into a ball of shame. It doesn't, but she still can't look him in the eye either, not when they're starting to blur and sting.

"At the same time," she tries to speak, but her throat feels clogged and it comes out more like a whisper, "I'm scared it'll never  _stop_."

Clarke hates that it is incredibly familiar when the shivering begins in her shoulders and the quick, panicked breaths that seem so loud in the forest.

"Clarke," Bellamy says and it sounds as raw as her confession and it eases her to hear her name like that - like she wasn't completely alone. But he doesn't say anything else and she's not even sure what she was searching to hear. They were never optimists but they still both believed in things - in fighting for what they built, in continuing to live in this big, unknown world they both stumbled upon.

He hugs her again, slowly and even a bit awkwardly sitting next to her, but the pressure of his hold stops the shaking.

When he finally feels it's right to pull away, there's a small smile on his lips but his eyes are serious when he says, "Maybe we'll be able to come back here without having a breakdown."

Clarke laughs and it sounds wet. She sniffles and wipes her nose with the back of her sleeve. He's always looking at her and now is no different, except that it makes her breath catch for a moment and then her lungs are steady.

"One day at a time, princess," Bellamy tells her, like it's a secret too, exactly what he's been trying to do this whole time. Clarke can tell he's just saying ' _We never know what can happen._ ' And the uncertainty of it, the future of the Grounders, of Camp Jaha, of her people, both confirms her fears of a new attacker and erases them altogether.

"You mean, this could have been the last fight," she states, wanting to hear it from him anyways.

"It could be, yeah," he nods thoughtfully, but there's no hope behind it - just the realistic chance that things are done with and to enjoy the days that didn't require so much fear.

Clarke washes the anger from her hands later that night, washes her hair in a metal pan of water and contemplates if all of them would make it to a stable situation - and that if they somehow did, she would tell Bellamy she loves him too.

#####

Camp Jaha is definitely resourceful and has improved their security measures, but after a few weeks of peace and silence from Mount Weather, they decide to leave the place. It's the one thing she's wanted to do for a while so when she brings it up to Raven, Jasper, and Monty in Bellamy's tent, she's thrilled to hear their agreement.

"I mean, I think I'm going to stay here though," Raven said warily. "I think it's a great idea, but there's just more for me to do here. Wick has supplies and I can use my brain as much as possible, rather than my legs."

"That's completely fine," Bellamy told her, already on board with Clarke's proposal from the get go. "We can always visit. In fact, you could build us some tools or precautions that we could come get."

The space mechanic grinned at that, happy to know she could still help her friends somehow. "I could probably duplicate the fence's structure and give you guys a stronger barrier." Raven starts to thumb the necklace Finn gave her, but no one comments because she's muttering technological jargon as she walks out of the tent.

"Yeah, and I just miss the way things were - well, some things. It's pretty sad that parents aren't letting my moonshine be distributed.  _Damn_ , don't they know we're adults by now?" Jasper grins, "We'll be better now too. We've grown up."

"I think it would be peaceful," Monty agrees casually alongside his best friend, nodding in his own cool and collected manner.

Jasper's comment doesn't seem to be meant in a bitter way - rather a simple truth, a fact that they've come a long way from Murphy's sentencing.

The Chancellor is harder to convince.

"You're being ridiculous, Clarke - it's safer here than anywhere else," Abby says, crossing her arms in dutiful motherly disapproval. "You're not going."

"Mom, we know how to get here from the dropship. It's not that far and it's not like it's the last time you'll ever see any of us - we just need our own place. We deserve our own place," Clarke reassures. Her mother and her have managed to stride into a kinder relationship, but she knows her mom still frets about her. A part of Clarke thinks that she understands just a bit more by having her own people, even if it's not quite the same. "All of us went through the same things. We'll always be a part of the first one hundred on Earth."

Of course, Clarke isn’t forcing everyone to come along. There’s less of them compared to the start of their road - from one hundred prisoners to forty-seven to even less now - a total of thirty-nine. But she would be indebted if they stayed. Her people have always kept her going and the fact that she can recall Unity Day with the feeling of the carefree nature of her people - fuck it, her  _family_  - is not something she wants to let go of right away. As far as Clarke knows, there’s around three kids who decided to stay with their parents, who couldn’t bear the separation. She understands.

Abby frowns, looks at her daughter for straining seconds and then she sighs resignedly. Clarke sees the similarity she has with her mom in that moment but doesn't say anything. Because Clarke has also seen how some of her own qualities have bled into her mom, or more accurately, the Chancellor, who must have learned from Clarke’s leadership since she’s landed - commanding and being the doctor she always was and knowing what needs to be done. Something about all of it makes Clarke very proud to be a Griffin.

"Tell me you're better though, right? A few weeks ago, you were -" she cuts herself off and smiles in a concerned way that reminds Clarke of when she was little and sick - it actually warms Clarke's heart up a bit. Abby lifts her arm and puts a squeezing hand in the junction of her daughter's neck, "I mean, you're better now,  _right_?"

Clarke reaches to place her hand over her mom's and clutches back, smiling sincerely, "I am, mom. I am."

Clarke thinks it's nice to feel how it is the truth and have it spread inside throughout her. Her mom pulls her into a tight, crushing hug and tells her to visit often but Clarke uses her negotiating skills to change it from four times a week to two with a teasing grin on her face.

 _This must be the state of okay_ , Clarke thinks to herself, her smile stretching.

#####

Bellamy comes back to the dropship with Jasper in tow behind him, snorting at something the guy said.

Clarke is slowly coming to terms with the concept that people won’t return bloody and broken when they come back to her. And so the concern she felt when they were gone was dimmed compared to the stress in the first few days of being back at the dropship. The relief she feels is not as intense as it used to be but it’s still there, calm in the background.

He spots her instinctually, like he knows what she was thinking, and walks purposefully towards the wooden bench she’s sitting on. It was Amber’s idea - she was a sculptor on the Ark and thought it would be a nice idea if they had seating areas surrounding the fireplace they have. Clarke is eager to see what else Amber will build for them.

He drops his backpack to the dirt and exhales, wiping at his eyes, looking worn out from the walk.

“How’d it go?” Clarke asks, smiling a bit that Bellamy got to go and visit his sister at a Grounder camp. The peace treaty has been holding well despite their losses because Clarke and the Sky People, as they say, kept their promise to return their caged Grounders.

“My sister is an Earth savage,” Bellamy replies, rolling his eyes and taking a bite out of a piece of fruit, resembling an apple from back when they were all in space. It’s darker though, more purple and soft inside. She reminds herself to ask Monty what the name of it is.

Clarke snorts and closes the sketchbook on her lap, leaving the pencil inside. It was a going-away gift from Lexa after the Commander heard they were going to leave Camp Jaha. Something about it seemed to make the Grounders respect the group Clarke and Bellamy had created a little more than before. Like all they needed was one last confirmation that their people were not the same as the Ark’s, not anymore.

“How so?” Clarke grins because lately, her lungs no longer function in panicked processes and the way they’ve reconstructed the area around the dropship - after moving the skeletons by giving the Grounders their righteous honor and clearing the debris - it looks whole again. Clarke misses Octavia though and hopes the girl visits on her own time in the future as well. It would be nice for her to see the place she truly started to live her life.

“I saw her drinking out of a chalice that was carved from the bone of some kind of bear,” he explains, a note of disgust in his voice. “The  _bone_ , princess. Next, she’s going to elope with Lincoln by dancing around a fire.”

She notices how his tone isn’t as bitter about Lincoln as it used to be. It feels like so long ago when she told Bellamy to sneak in to Mount Weather that it strikes her as irrelevant to ask now what went down between them.

“I know for a fact that  _you_  know that’s not how it goes,” Clarke jabs at him, bumping her elbow into his bicep.

Bellamy shoots her a narrow glare but it disappears when she laughs a bit and he returns to rolling his eyes, his smirk attempting its best not to break out into a grin, “Okay, fine, it’s not. But if I hear she starts wearing a knee-length skirt made of deerskin around Lincoln, I’m gonna know what marriage customs to destroy. And then I’ll drag her back here.”

“You miss her, huh?” She questions, disregarding his feeble threats, but knows she doesn’t need an answer to that. It’s easy to see that Bellamy is doing his best in letting his little sister live the life she wants, even if it’s not exactly ideal in sticking together.

He sighs audibly and then gives her one of those small smirks that have been driving her crazy.

The kind of crazy where a week ago, Bellamy ran out of clean shirts and thought it was perfectly  _fine_  to walk around camp without one. She’s pretty sure none of the girls had gotten their work done properly. But more so, he thought it’d be okay to stand closely behind Clarke while she sat and explained their boundaries on a hand-drawn map to the younger prisoners. She had put her hands under her thighs and told everyone she was cold, when the truth was she wasn’t sure she’d be able to keep her hands to herself.

Bellamy continues to be sexually maddening for her and he doesn’t even have a clue about it.

“I think we’re all pretty happy at this point,” he finally grins at her and she bows her neck and focuses on the spine of her sketchbook. “I don’t want to trap her. Things are good.”

Clarke doesn’t mean to, but her eyes pierce into his when she grins back, “Yeah, they are.”

She’s happy to be wrong about her fears from long ago, for the first time, at least.

#####

The two of them are on their way back from visiting Camp Jaha when it happens.

Clarke had protested when her mom put a handful of the camp’s rations into a bag and told them to take it back with them. But Abby wouldn’t let the gesture go, so they now have a few bars of chocolate and some tendered and seasoned meat to feed the group. Also, a few extra walkie-talkies, courtesy of Raven, who appeared flushed when they entered the mechanic’s station, followed by an awkwardly happy engineer.

Bellamy had exchanged looks with her, raising an amused eyebrow, but they didn’t comment on it.  

Before they left, they figured that Monty and Jasper could keep the rest of camp in check. At first, she was hesitant to leave them alone but then Jasper reminded her of the wonderful job they had done while in Mount Weather babysitting the children.

“Yeah, by  _being_  children,” Clarke retorted, but eventually agreed nonetheless.

They decided to take the long way back, leaving the camp by Wick’s station to get on an easier pathway. It had been drizzling all day in sporadic periods but Clarke didn’t mind at all since it left the dirt and tree bark with the natural scent of Earth and turned the colors of the grass and leaves into an even more vibrant green than before.

When they passed their old log, she joked and spun around, walking backwards as she held up her arms in mock showiness, “Look, no breakdowns!”

Bellamy shot her a grin and shaked his head at her silliness, his wavy hair moving along with the motion.

But it’s about a mile later, and now the rain was escalating into a steadier fall. Her co-leader had spent the majority of the walk a few feet behind her, but she hears the splashes in the mud of his footsteps when he catches up to her. Clarke looks at him curiously, waiting for an explanation as she continues walking.

“Clarke, hey,” he touches her arm gently, so Clarke frowns and confusedly wonders what happened, stopping and turning to face him directly.

“Bellamy, what -” Her voice disappears when Bellamy steps closer to her, his hand resting softly just before her elbow. Clarke immediately knows he’s not about to hug her and she can’t move an inch but it’s still difficult to crush the fear building up in her chest.

Something in her searches for a worthy justification to pull away and let the moment slip, but nothing comes to mind. It’s possible that not having anything to fight against rules out a possibility of weakness. It's possible that he never made her weak or powerless at all.

Then he smirks and she has the sudden urge to tell him there’s a raindrop on the bridge of his nose but it’s too complicated, too much brain activity that she doesn’t have right now because before she knows it, his lips are finally,  _finally_ , touching hers. Clarke sighs like she’s melting after waiting so long and puts some pressure on her heels to press further into the kiss. His hand comes to her wet hair, his fingers tangling into the ends.

But she is the one to open her mouth first - and when his tongue meets hers, she feels spectacularly weightless. His body radiates a warmth that was always addicting to her and she impulsively steps closer, until his chest is against hers and her grip is a fist into the fabric of his shirt.

Bellamy’s hand moves from her hair to the base of her neck, seemingly on the same page about pulling her in closer. His other arm centers around her lower back, tightening in some kind of incredible  _safe_  way.

He is gentle with his mouth, teasing her and playful, the way he always is when they're alone these days - younger and the greatest reminder she’s ever seen of what it means to be alive. Bellamy drags his tongue to her lips and then pulls on her bottom one with his teeth. It sends an unexpected surge through her and off-handedly, she can tell she’s flushed. Clarke has to pull away to breathe, feeling inadequate for being so affected by one stupid kiss with him.

Her breathing is still heavy, but it’s nothing like the frightened breaths she used to feel after her nightmares or before the panic attacks. Clarke tilts her head upwards slightly to look at him and finds herself taken aback a little when she deciphers some kind of nervousness in his expression. But she can’t figure out what to say, so the first thing she does is sigh elatedly and smile and hope it comforts him. She's not going to run away and hide.

"Bellamy," like a promise off her lips. This is her only chance to really get him to understand that she’s  _known_  for so long, but more than that, her feelings are extraordinarily identical to his and she’s known it for a while too.

“I would’ve kissed you sooner,” Bellamy speaks and his voice sends a pleasant chill down her spine, being hoarse and airy. It gives Clarke an excited rush to know she wasn’t the only one so affected by it. “But things were good.”

Clarke lets her hand unravel against his shirt until her palm is resting delicately over his heart.

“And now?”

Bellamy leans in closer, looking certain and assured, “Things are better.”

He kisses her again and Clarke’s never been so fucking thankful for being sent down to Earth as she was in that second.

#####

It's a different kind of electricity between them after that.

With no one to prepare for and no peril headed their way, Clarke doesn’t have to watch over the rest of them as much as the old days. Her hands keep busy without any red, just a steadier motion of her movements in the lines she draws. Her focus changed to drawing the scenery around her, wanting to document her admiration for the ground. Clarke feels soothed for the first time in a while.

She'll sometimes see Bellamy with a book open in his lap, his back against the wall of the dropship with a deep look of concentration. No doubt something historical from the selection they took from Mount Weather.

When they’re standing in the center, he’ll stand close at her side linking to her through his fingertips whether they're on the curve her back, the end of her neck, or a feather light touch on her arm. If anybody notices, they keep to themselves. There's also the possibility that maybe, they're just not surprised.

Clarke isn’t either. Not anymore.

That's how she finds him on the edge of the dropship, hidden and alone, where there’s grass peeking through the fences they have - it’s more natural, in truth.

“Hi,” she says smiling, because she’s happy and honestly crazy about him. At first, she doesn't know where to put her hands.

“Hey,” his grin bright and real, stretching slowly right back at her.

 _I love him, yeah, I thought so_ , she thinks. It’s instant, it’s warming everything inside of her and Clarke doesn’t want to back away from it at all. His hand is resting inside of the book, now slightly closed on top of it, as he directs his complete attention to her. He did always seem to look at her, after all. She rests her shoulder against the dropship, leaning casually and calm. She knows now that Bellamy was nothing to be afraid of - she’s trusted him with her life what feels like hundreds of times.

“What are you up to later?” Clarke asks, narrowing her eyes at him curiously.

“Are you asking me on a date?” Bellamy grins smugly and it makes Clarke want to have her own book to throw at him in the nicest way possible.

She laughs though, “I’m requesting some of your time, yeah, possibly alone with me.” In truth, she asking for a walk - but she also knows, that she really wants to get a chance to get her hands on him, if he’ll let her. Clarke really hopes that he won’t actually treat her like a princess all the time. He should know she can hold her own.

Bellamy bites his lip, her breath catches, it’s nothing new. He misses it, thankfully, glancing up at the trees deep in thought.

Then his fawn or deer colored eyes, she's never sure, look back at her and he smiles with an upturn of his lips, a sincere smirk, “Alright, I know what to plan.”

“You’re going to plan our date?” The admission doesn’t bother her since she can’t resist the shock, and hey, they both knew the truth anyways. It's just another progression of their new kind of certainty.

“Yeah, I’ve thought about this for a while,” Bellamy says softly, even with a little flush on his cheeks. Clarke inhales sharply at that, but it’s nothing that hurts. Things with him never hurt her at all and she’s glad she waited - they both waited before starting something.

“Okay,” she agrees, easily because well, she wants to see what kind of romantic side Bellamy has.

“Meet me here at midnight?” He asks, uncertain.

Clarke has stayed up for days in battle - midnight is nothing. That’s her favorite time to draw anyways, in her tent, by the lamp until three in the morning.

“Sure, I’ll just borrow a knee-length skirt from Octavia,” Clarke says over her shoulder, just before she walks away. She laughs to herself without looking behind her, but hears him call out, “Not funny, princess!”

So Clarke sways her hips a little more as she walks away, just because.

#####

“Clarke, you cannot make fun of me for any of this at all,” is the first thing she hears later that night as she looks away from the lamp that’s posted on the ground. She’s propped against the dropship, meets his embarrassed and pleading face and grins immediately.

“I’m serious,” Bellamy says, but it’s clear a smile is threatening to break in the middle of his plea.

“What exactly  _is_  our date?” Clarke breaks the first rule, it looks like, within seconds of its creation. Her hands behind her back push against the dropship to stand up upright.

“Just - trust me. It’s really corny, but, I mean -”

“Let’s go,” Clarke interrupts eagerly, noticing his backpack and that he must be taking her somewhere.

He pauses and the flustered nature disappears before he nods at her cheerfully. “Well, if you’ll follow me, princess.” And begins walking to the side exit of the dropship. Her steps crunch in the beginning and then even out, as she follows him a few feet behind without hesitation.

What seems like three miles out, she feels the familiarity of the route they're traveling, but it feels like so long ago, that she can barely remember the destination.

A couple minutes later, Bellamy stops and turns around at the edge of the forest with a smirk, "You ready?"

He walks out of the forest and into an open field with small shrubs scattered randomly around. She remembers, glances to her left to see the hill of grass and her heart drums hurriedly at the thought she's sure he put into this. The crushing voice in the back of her head asks if she's good enough for him, but she takes a deep breath, inhales the smell of fresh dirt and dry land and feels better. Simply in awe, really, when Bellamy puts his foot on the metal door of the supply depot they went to in the past.

"This isn't even the worst part," Bellamy shakes his head, snorting as if he has no shame anymore after seeing her happy and soft responses. He's pulling out fruit - the purple kind that seems to be his favorite,  _Amygdaloideae Prunicia_ , Monty told her a few weeks ago. There's also a few berries and a blanket to sit on.

It’s thrilling to learn that Bellamy Blake is a dork.

He unfolds the blanket and she sits down cross-legged while he finishes setting up. "I also had this disgusting idea to look at the stars," he remarks, shrugging his shoulders as he sits down beside her.

Clarke laughs delightedly, "You're right, that's pretty gross." She rests her chin on her hand and stares at him, taking in his expressions and the freckles on his cheeks if she looks close enough. It pleases her to see there aren’t any bags under his eyes, that he’s relishing this resting period as well. "It does sound highly gratifying though. Let's do it."

He laughs and hands her a few berries, "Well, good to know I have your approval."

She tosses a few into her mouth and bites into the sweetness, licking her lips and making a short grunt of consent to the quality. Her elbows rest on her knees and she enjoys the silence as they eat their food for some time.

There’s a satisfied sensation that spreads through her when she finishes and she reaches into her pocket and pulls out a piece of paper, handing it to him, “Here.”

His eyebrows raise but he keeps quiet, wiping his hands on his pants before taking it out of her fingertips. Bellamy opens it cautiously and his eyes glance intensely as he looks over the drawing and she feels abashed at the attention.

She remembers the night she drew it - charcoal stained her palms even the following day and three hours flew by effortlessly. It had been done from memory, a simple image of the forest shaded in a night setting, the log as the subject in the center, leaves scattered on the dirt on the ground. The hardest thing was the details of the trees but she did the best she could, penciling in textures of the tree bark.

Bellamy swallows trying to clear his throat and it feels like something infinite.

“Better than a map,” she remarks, thoughtfully, and his mouth parts open but no phrases escape him. Clarke gets such a pull on her heart whenever he looks at her like that, like there’s constant tides of emotion that wash her away and all his actions are the moon that cause the push and pull. The same pull that's been there from the start and the final push that made loving him as easy as breathing. It's incredible to place that kind of control in someone, but Clarke knows they hold the reins together

“C’mere,” he says rough, waving his hand towards him. She grins and crawls on the blanket, a bit ungracefully, doing her best not to knock anything over with her knees. When she’s closer she doesn’t even get a chance to settle because his hands frame both sides of her face and guide her to him, lips meeting hers in wait. Clarke tries not to smile too much and kisses back, her hand going to the back of his neck, thumbing at the curls at the nape like she always loves to do.

“Thank you,” he says carefully when he pulls away, an admittance of the importance of the drawing. She had actually thought of waiting and is rather relieved that she pushed through and brought it anyways.

Clarke moves her legs again so that she’s straddling him and smiles throughout it, a bit knowingly, when his hands move to hold her steady at the waist without blinking. He’s sitting up as well and her legs wrap around him easily, her hands going to grab at his shirt.

Resisting was never an option, so Clarke bites her lip and leans in again, coveting the warmth of his body. There’s a summer breeze rolling around them, and he was right, the night skies are clear with scattered stars radiant above and it might be the best night of her life.

Her breaths come ragged being pressed against him, with his lips dragging over and his tongue working against her. Clarke pulls her head back, her chest rising and falling rapidly but Bellamy doesn’t stumble at it, moving his mouth down to her neck instead. She always knew she was sensitive there but  _fuck_ , she might hate him when his teeth scrape against her skin, sending shocks through her body and then comforting them with soft lips.

There’s no imaginable world without the two of them just like this anymore - it’s like coming home, like wading through a calm river. Bellamy’s lips peck one last time against the mark he left, and she laughs at that freely, tucking her head on the curve of his shoulder. Her body seems fuzzy at the surface and she wants more.

 _I trust him_ , Clarke thinks and that’s the equilibrium of all of this, really. That’s the most important thing they have with each other, even after love. She whispers against his neck, “Don’t you think the stars would look better after we make love?”

“Yes,” he breathes out immediately, hurriedly and favorable.

“Oh, wow,” Clarke pulls back, amused and wanting to see him right now, “That was quick.”

She’s incredibly privileged to witness Bellamy laugh in the night, like it’s freedom in their veins. Her chest feels full and complete because they both said it, just now, like it was just another wave of them, just another path to get to bliss. He leans in and kisses her before she can think any longer.

And then, he doesn’t stop, and she’s drowning in him so much, so powerfully. It’s the most beautiful thing, when his hands tug at the bottom of her cotton blue, long-sleeved shirt and she laughs breathlessly, nods against him. Because she trusts him, he doesn’t need to ask her.

The expanse of her stomach and arms are hit immediately with a breeze and she shivers, doesn’t think about it at all when she shifts in his lap, but the friction feels so good, she does it again and a shocked gasp leaves her. Her cunt is wet and throbbing as she grinds against him without rhythm or finesse of any kind, just desperate contact - trying to get his hardening cock closer to her core despite the layers between them.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Bellamy curses and she belatedly realizes that he’s been looking at her in awe the entire time, his hands are on her waist but gripping so tightly - Clarke doesn’t mention it because the thought that he’ll leave bruises just turns her on even more.

His hands slide down further to clutch her hips and he lapses onto her neck once more, biting just as he thrusts up against her. Clarke gasps high-pitched and bares her head back, gyrating her pelvis against him harder. She is a liar to say she isn't desperate at this point.

She needs Bellamy to touch her already.

“You know how buttons work, right?” Clarke asks, impatiently and smirking.

“ _Do I fucking know how_  -” he grumbles under his breath, moving his hands to the clasp of her jeans, quickly undoing it and pulling the zipper down. “Yeah, princess, I got a vague idea,” he replies, his sarcasm just another means to an end for his frustration. Clarke grins and think of throwing some snark back at him, but then he’s holding her just under her ribs tightly and turning them over, laying her almost bare back onto the blanket.

Her legs hadn’t moved since she first wrapped them around him, but she unfolds them now to place her feet on the ground, her knees bent and legs spread out wide. Bellamy takes advantage of the space, leaning above her and kissing her chest.

She’s about to mention that he still hasn’t gotten either of their pants off when he tugs the strap of her bra down to fall at her shoulder. His eyes look over her intensely, probably drinking in how good she looked splayed out below him - it’s not like she could tease him about it, the view above her might be better than stars anyways and his warmth radiates in this position even better than before. Bellamy comes to some kind of decision and his fingertips gently run over her left arm, until he pulls the other bra strap off her shoulder as well.

“That’s better,” he hums, looking over her decisively, and then leaning down again, kissing between her breasts with his mouth open and his tongue dragging over her sternum. It occurs to her that Bellamy has a thing for the way she looks in her bra and the discovery makes her arch that much more into him, her hand coming to hold his wavy dark hair.

He pulls away to shift her bra cup, dragging it lower against her ribs until it exposes her breast to the night air. Bellamy’s hand shapes a hold underneath her breast just before he grazes his mouth over her nipple, teasing it with his tongue and worrying at it with his teeth. The moan leaves her helplessly and louder than she had meant - and without thinking, she clutches at his hair tightly. He hisses in response but decides to get her back by leaving another mark, just under her ribs.

Despite her urging in the beginning, Bellamy is going slower than Clarke originally expected, teasing her with nothing but touches of his mouth and hands. Clarke can tell he's thought about more than just taking her on a date like this, for a generous amount of time.

The whole thing sends occasional bursts of bliss through her spine and she's sure her panties are embarrassingly soaked through at this point. Her breathing reminds her of that first kiss and looks at him curiously when he moves back and kneels. Why the hell did he move so far away?

Bellamy pulls his shirt off in a rush, tosses it to the side like it’s nothing and hovers over her again, kissing her passionately and frantic and she groans just as he inhales sharply and pulls away far too abrupt for her liking.

“I’d like to take care of you, if you’d let me,” Bellamy says gently then, and is he talking about -  _Shit_ , shit, Clarke’s mind runs a mile a minute, her legs squeeze tighter around him, and she can’t really come up with anything but to surge her whole chest upwards, clashing her mouth against his again and maybe getting even more filthy with it, biting his lip and running her tongue over it afterwards.

“ _Yes_ ,” she gasps, catching her breath.

He grins at her eagerness, but it’s more pleased than smug, like it was genuinely a privilege to want to fucking eat her out - honestly, was he expecting her to say no? It’s not as much of a disappointment when he leans away again, because this time, his hands tug at each pant leg of her jeans, until they’re off and she’s in nothing but her matching black bra and panties, which had lace that went around her hips.

Bellamy does not give a fuck about lace, which makes Clarke smirk for a second, and takes them off her smoothly. He does, however, notice that her underwear was far from dry.

“Holy shit, Clarke,” he grumbles, one hand still holding her panties and the other running over his face as he tries to pull it together.

Unbelievable, she is literally flat on her back naked - besides the bra but it doesn’t look like she’ll be taking that off - and he can’t get over the view, running his eyes over her appreciatively when her knees spread out, exposing herself further. The air is chilly but her cunt is warm and throbbing and she kind of likes it.

“Yes, Bellamy," she rolls her eyes, "I’m wet and turned on, but here I was thinking you were going to do something about it,” she huffs, annoyed as her co-leader glares at her for the remark. He doesn’t jump at her even with her complaining, and takes off his pants instead, leaving him in black boxer briefs. Clarke does in fact look towards his dick and can tell she’ll be pretty satisfied when the night is over. If it ever starts, that is.

He drapes himself over her, but one of his hands wrap around her thigh and the other goes to her hair this time, tugging her head back sharply - she moans loudly at that, surprised at herself - so he can mutter against her skin, “Do you even fucking know what you look like right now?” The hand on her thigh moves and he’s still talking when he slips a finger into her heat as she gasps and shuts her eyes. “You really have no idea how beautiful you are like this, frustrated and desperate and I've thought about this, but god, the sounds you make -” He doesn’t finish.

His thumb flattens on her clit with the slightest pressure, inserts another finger and moves so slowly so that she’s agonized and writhing. Her eyes fly open, somehow needing to confirm this was real, this was  _Bellamy_  and everything she's been patient for. Her mouth is met with a gentle kiss that does just that. Clarke is about to trap him with her thighs and rock to the motion of his fingers, but he bends down placing chaste kisses to her ribs, then along her stomach, her hipbone, her thigh.

Her heart is nothing steady anymore, and she loses herself to him the way she loses herself to the flight of her charcoal in dark hours. The heat of his breath tickles when it reaches the insides of her thighs. He uses his other arm to lift one of her legs over his shoulder but it’s not until he removes his fingers from her folds, running his slicked up hand over her hip and then through the soft tufts of her hair that her breath hitches. Clarke is well aware he said he’d take care of her but something about the gesture of his rough, calloused hands makes it feel like so much more.

“Relax,” he tells her. So she does, settles her back further into the blanket even though the ground beneath her is solid - a reminder that doesn’t bother her at all. Clarke can’t decide for a moment where to look. Originally, she had wanted to rest on her elbows and admire the view of Bellamy between her legs - yet something tells her she might not be able to keep it together for very long anyways. So she takes his advice, settling her body to the Earth and exhales a liberating sigh.

The calm doesn’t last because she can feel him huffing for a few split seconds against her before his tongue flattens on the nub and all the waiting catches up to her, a loud and helpless groan punched out of her throat. Her hands scramble for something to hold onto as his mouth moves shamelessly between folds.

“ _Bellamy_ ,” she pants and her thighs tremble, even the one he has a hold on and powerless whimpers break out when he plunges his tongue into her. The swirling motion inside doesn’t stop as he takes his hand off her pelvis and slips a finger alongside. With every motion he changes - Clarke is helpless to fight some noise, primal in a way she’s never been before.

Bellamy alternates using his fingers on her clit or inside of her, always rotating positions with his mouth. Every muscle in her body feels stretched out and strained as a familiar desire builds in her core, every touch on her nub or shift of his fingers that makes her cunt throb more and more.

Clarke whines from her chest, her mouth open and wide as Bellamy’s fingers fuck into her at a maddening tempo, short but rough, contrasting with the soft laving motion of his hot tongue on her clit. She’s losing her mind because every time his fingers thrust and curl, she reacts by pulling her bottom lip with her teeth. There’s a faint tang of metal and blood in her mouth and she has no doubt her lips are puffy and swollen.

Something tight coils in her but Bellamy moans with his tongue still against her and she cries out suddenly, clenching around his fingers and arching her back, jolts of pleasure rushing through her. For a moment she doesn’t breathe, riding it out to Bellamy’s fingers still inside, tightening around them to a wave of aftershocks.

She catches her breath when he presses another loving kiss on the inside of her thigh, removing his fingers from her heat. Something about it feels empty but she releases a shuddering sigh anyways - too blissed out and tingling from her leftover sensitivity to care.

Clarke blindly reaches until her fingers thread through Bellamy’s curls, lightly tugging him up to meet him in a bruising kiss. She can taste herself in his mouth and cravingly grasps at his shoulder blades, bringing him closer.

Bellamy pulls away and kisses her jaw open-mouthed before muttering under his breath against her skin, “You are incredible.”

She grins and is a little surprised to hear the hoarseness in her voice when she replies, ” _That_  was incredible.” Clarke slides her hands under the stretchy waistband of his boxers and drags them downward until he gets the idea and kicks them off completely. His cock is standing, beads of pre-cum leaking at the head.

“You okay there?” Clarke teases, smiling knowingly.

He drapes himself over her, groaning at her laughter, “I wasn’t lying about the sounds you make. You’re so loud.” He looks up from the crook of her shoulder and grins, “Not that I’m complaining. At  _all_.”

Clarke hitches her leg around his waist and rolls them over with Bellamy raising his eyebrows in amusement but going along with her unquestioningly.

“Urge to be on top, princess?” He smirks, running his hands over her waist and hips until she gets comfortable sprawled around him.

Clarke beams back, running her hands down his chest and abdomen where the scar from so long ago is pinked over and healed. He twitches at that and she wraps a hand around him without warning and his head throws back and hits the ground as he swears.

“Why don’t you just  _relax_?” She retorts, pumping his length in slow strokes and moving her thumb over the tip, smearing pre-cum along in the process.

“Yeah, sure,” he says hurriedly and his voice cracks a little. Clarke wants to make him fall apart, maybe taste him and get him to keep cursing and saying her name but knows there will be another time for that. It's a _really_ nice thought to have.

She lifts off from his thighs and scoots forward so she's hovering above his cock, her strokes slowing to a gradual stop.

Clarke isn't going to deny it to herself -  she loves this position. Something about watching Bellamy falter beneath her with his chest and defined abs and steady and broad shoulders, like some kind of legendary sculpture with strong arms derived from war from ancient times. She’d ventured once in the archives during class on the Ark. Someone had mentioned Michelangelo off-handedly, she hadn’t known and the artist in her was dying to find out what exactly could be made out of stone. It makes Clarke entirely humble to be here in this moment. It was like watching that same sculpture melt into an entirely different masterpiece, one meant solely for her eyes.

She has to shake herself out of her thoughts before her hand her hand circles around him again, this time a feather light touch around him, and Clarke thinks he shivers, but she isn’t sure. Her eyes flutter shut, focusing on positioning him but she does it so slowly, on purpose a bit.

When the head of his cock pushes just against her entrance, she holds still. It felt right to and she’s not sure why, but her eyelids flicker open. His back is flat, muscles twitching on his abdomen, and he’s staring right at her. She lowers herself down, inch by inch but doesn’t pause at all. God, he feels amazing stretching her out and she can’t help but go on until she’s fully seated on him.

He’s taking too long.

“Bellamy!” Clarke means for it to sound commanding, so he can start fucking her because his grip on her waist has tightened and he’s not letting her move. It feebly sounds more like another whine.

Suddenly, Clarke can feel the heat of his body nearing hers as he sits up. Combined with the rushing cool breeze and him, she trembles. His thumb presses against a point on her ribcage forcefully and he’s sliding her off him, holding her up just before bringing her down roughly .

“ _Oh_ ,” A moan slips out of her lips and she falls forward against Bellamy’s skin. She buries her nose against his neck and inhales deeply, anchoring herself with her palms tightly on his triceps. He fucks up into her again and broadens his hands on her back. A grunt forces its way out of his throat when she clenches around him and something in her demands retaliation. Clarke moves her mouth over the junction of his shoulder and collarbone and presses her teeth against the freckles there, hoping for a bruise.

“Clarke,” Bellamy’s mouth falls open in a pained groan when she rolls her hips forward and finds the perfect spot inside her, a gasp echoing the plea of her name.

So she does it again and Bellamy holds onto her like a lifeline. They fall into some mindless rhythm after that, easy as everything else they’ve ever done together. His grip tightens when he’s about to slam in so she always follows it with another twist of her pelvis. And it goes on again and again.

“Fuck,” Bellamy pants out and she can’t really handle how deep his voice has gotten, so her fingers tangle in his hair, sweaty and damp at the ends.

Clarke lets her teeth clash against his and somehow moans louder then than she has all night. One of his hands circle from her back to cup her breast, alternating between clasping her nipple and caressing over it. Her walls tighten sporadically around him as she jerks forward uncontrollably at the sensation.

“Come on,” Clarke grits out through her teeth. The hand on her breast moves against her clit and she just barely fights the grunt that claws up her throat. “God, Bellamy, come on,” she whimpers, twisting her pelvis in repeating, unrestrained motions.

Her fingers find the nape of his neck as she works harder, lifting herself off and falling back down frantically. Clarke can’t tell if she’s chasing another release of her own or Bellamy this time around. Whatever the case, she’s in some type of frenzy and can’t be stopped, not with Bellamy’s mouth hot on her neck as he sucks another mark onto her, her sensitive clit making her clench every so often.

Her pace picks up and she's delighted to hear the choked off moan from Bellamy, his hips snapping in rapid succession before his head drops against her shoulder and stills. Her name is whispered into the night on cracked syllables.

Clarke gasps when he jerks against her again, thrusting unexpectedly. It sends a shock shooting through her, especially with the pressure of his thumb. Clarke comes agonizingly, tightening around his cock inside her in pulsating beats, like an undercurrent beneath her skin, less intense than before but wrecking her just the same.

They end up wrapped around each other, sweaty and breathing heavily, but motionless, still stuck in a trance.

He mumbles something incoherent a minute later, running a hand down her back gently and raising her again. Clarke catches his drift, assisting as she slides off. His back eases against the blanket again but his hand intertwines with hers. She follows when he tugs her down, setting her chin on his chest as it routinely rises and falls.

“Whoa,” he remarks bluntly, stunned.

Clarke would laugh but her lungs aren’t at full manageable capacity just yet, her legs are tingling, and she really, _really_ can’t disagree.

“Why the hell weren’t we doing that earlier?” She blurts out accidentally. Truthfully, they both know why - but Bellamy laughs anyways, which might have been her goal all along. His eyes crinkle at the sides, shining under the moonlight and his lips are puffy and he just looks so blissed out. Clarke feels something soar in her again at just how much she loves this man in front of her.

Bellamy drops a chaste kiss on her lips and looks at her wide-eyed and serious as he nods his head.

“Tell me about it.”

Later, when the stars start to fade out and daylight begins to break, they gather their things back into their bags. Clarke is grinning, teasing Bellamy about his first speech at school, which ended up as motivational as a speech on plebeians could be.

"I love you. You know that, right?" He interrupts her giggle with a break to seriousness, his eyes boring into hers, unwavering and steady.

Her heart pounds like she's been caught for something and it's no wonder people run away from these kind of feelings. But Clarke is a warrior, a brave fighter, so she nods in response, "Yeah, god knows why."

She's still grinning, so it's meant to be light-hearted, but worry creeps up anyways in the back of her head.

Bellamy must notice cause he rolls his eyes and pairs it with an answering smile. "You came back for me," he counters, with a quick shrug of his shoulders like it's simple.

And maybe it is.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I'll probably write some sequel things.
> 
> One quick thing (or not - I talk too much), that story of ‘memento mori’ was probably my favorite thing I ever learned in a history class, even if it’s not my favorite subject. I still thought there was something very haunting and admirable and inspiring about it?? idk i might get it tattooed, no joke
> 
> ANOTHER SIDENOTE: “she stars wearing a knee-length skirt made of deerskin”, is me trying to extend Bellamy’s historical brain by referencing the Delaware tribe’s wedding traditions from way back when to thriving Native American times.


End file.
